


bitter pill

by casdoms (moffwithhishead)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s11e12 Don't You Forget About Me, Gen, M/M, cas is possessed by lucifer, dean blames himself for everything (even when it's not his fault)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 03:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5896747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moffwithhishead/pseuds/casdoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey, Dean,” Cas answers after about four rings and he sounds way too fucking chipper for it being one in the morning. </p><p>“Hey?” Dean parrots it back, making an incredulous face, “That’s all you’ve got??” </p><p>Castiel makes a noise on the other end of the line, “Um... would you prefer I said hello?” </p><p>“No you dick, I’d prefer you call me back when I leave you a message at ass o’clock in the morning telling you that Claire got hurt,” Dean snaps.</p><p>“Oh,” Cas says after a minute. “I apologize. I’ve been busy.” </p><p>“Busy,” he repeats flatly. “You’ve been busy.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	bitter pill

**Author's Note:**

> I saw people complaining that claire didn't ask about cas which I think makes sense to me??? because 10.20 left her and cas off on a much better note but they're still... cas doesn't _really_ have a "place" in her life? and claire was more focused on the case anyway, if cas wasn't there she probably just assumed that he was doing something else. or maybe lucifer had texted her from cas' phone. WHO KNOWS. anyway, this was supposed to be different but hey, dean felt like bickering with cas apparently.
> 
> spoilers obviously

Claire shuffles her feet and clears her throat, “So, how’s...” 

She lets the sentence hang there for a second and Jody kindly averts her eyes. She doesn’t know everything about Claire and Cas’ relationship, but she knows enough to know that Claire asking is a big deal. 

Dean smiles a little awkwardly, rubs the back of his neck, “He’s... good. I think.”

Claire crosses her arms over her chest and nods, “Cool.” She turns around abruptly and goes over to Sam and Alex, apparently done with that part of the conversation.

He lets her go with an amused huff and shakes his head a little, “Teenagers.” 

Jody snorts, “You’re preaching to the choir, kiddo.” 

Dean grins and squeezes her shoulder, helping her pivot on the wet driveway, “You gonna be alright now that you’re outnumbered again?” 

“As long as everybody wears a condom, we’ll be fine,” Jody assures him.

Dean huffs, “Well I want that bumpersticker.” 

* * *

 

He watches the girls disappear in the rearview mirror and sends out a prayer to every deity that’s listening that Claire, Alex and Jody will be okay.

Dean feels uneasy about all of this. He doesn’t want Claire hunting. He wishes he could give Jody some sort of back up with the girls - he remembers Sam at that age and well, he remembers **_himself_** at that age. 

It’s not great to go through alone.

And he’s worried - about Claire, sure. He’s worried about Cas more, though.

He’d called Cas last night after everybody was home safe and the bad guys were dead. He’d been freaked out and keyed up and he wanted to tell Cas what happened before he could hear it from anyone else. 

‘ _Hey Cas it’s me. Listen, uh... call me when you get a chance, okay? Something happened with Claire. She’s okay so don’t freak out or anything, but I just... yeah. Okay. Talk to you soon_.’ 

It’s been twelve hours and he hasn’t called back.

“So,” Sam claps his hands together and grins at his brother, snapping Dean out of it, “You wanna wait until we’re at the bunker to eat this or you wanna pull over?” 

Dean’s stomach growls in response and he can’t help but smile when his brother laughs.

“Let’s wait until we get to the highway at least,” he reasons. 

Sam ignores him and starts eating a rib anyway. Dean swears he’s gonna kill his brother if he gets any of that sauce on the seats (and if he doesn’t hand one over).

 

* * *

 

When they get home, the bunker’s dark and cold. They turn off the heat when they’re not home. Sam goes down the stairs first, flipping the lights on as he goes. “I’m gonna go put the rest of this in the fridge!” 

Dean makes a noncommittal noise and shuts the door behind him, distracted reading his phone.

He stops at the war table and drops his stuff with a frown, “C’mon, man...” 

“Still hasn’t responded?” Sam asks as he dips back into the room, a knowing look on his face that’s way too sympathetic for Dean’s liking.

“Shut up,” he mumbles and shoves the phone in his pocket. “...And no.” 

“I still think it’s weird that he’s been so quiet lately,” Sam offers, his voice carrying the distinct tone of ‘ _I know something you don’t know_.’ 

Dean grunts and grabs his duffel off the floor, “It’s Cas, Sammy. He’s pretty good at the whole radio silence thing.” 

He sounds a lot more upset about it than he meant to. Well.

He looks up for a second to see if Sam caught it and is greeted with a sympathetic look that makes his stomach roll in a bad way.

“Look, he’s -” Dean opens his mouth and takes a moment to make anything come out, “He’s busy. Amara is... you know. She’s not the normal Big Bad, Sam. He’s probably gotta do a lot of like, angelic digging or whatever.” 

Sam arches an eyebrow at him, “ _Angelic digging_?” 

Dean blushes, “Shut up. You know what I mean.” 

He snatches the water Sam brought back from the kitchen and goes to his bedroom, ignoring the squawking from his brother.

Serves him right. 

 

* * *

 

They didn’t talk much the rest of the night.

Dean ate his dinner quickly and locked himself in his room afterwards, feeling more anxious than usual about Cas not calling him back.

He’s _never_ gone this long without calling Dean back. 

He hates himself when it only takes five minutes of being alone before he’s got his phone in his hands and he’s trying to get Cas on the phone. 

“C’mon, c’mon...” Dean mumbles into his palm, his foot bouncing on the floor.

“Hey, Dean,” Cas answers after about four rings and he sounds way too fucking chipper for it being one in the morning. 

“ ** _Hey_**?” Dean parrots it back, making an incredulous face, “That’s all you’ve got??” 

Castiel makes a noise on the other end of the line, “Um... would you prefer I said hello?” 

“No you dick, I’d prefer you call me back when I leave you a message at ass o’clock in the morning telling you that Claire got hurt,” Dean snaps.

“Oh,” Cas says after a minute. “I apologize. I’ve been busy.” 

“Busy,” he repeats flatly. “You’ve been **_busy_**.” 

Castiel hums, clearly not paying 100% attention to the conversation, “Yes well, it turns out trying to kill God’s sister is a lot more time consuming than you thought, Dean-o.” 

Dean’s stomach lurches at the nickname but he shrugs his shoulders like that’ll get the creepy feeling off of him.

“Whatever, man...” He mumbles, not sure what to say to Cas, “Just... you’re freaking us out dude. You never take this long to call back.” 

Castiel laughs - like, _actually_ fucking laughs. 

“I had no idea I was so in demand at the Winchester residence.” 

Dean gets that uncomfortable feeling again and clears his throat, “That’s... of course you are Cas. Don’t be an idiot.” 

“Cause insulting your friends is how you show that you care, obviously,” Castiel snarks right back and it sounds like he’s baiting for a fight. 

 He opens his mouth to say something but shuts it immediately, shaking his head a little. 

“Whatever. I’m not doing this with you over the phone, Cas.” 

“Yeah, you never wanna do this with me, Dean.” Cas sounds bitter but not angry. Dean feels nauseous. 

“I’m hanging up,” he grits out, his free hand bunched up in the bed sheets, “Call me back when you’re done being a fucking dick.” 

He hangs up before Cas can respond and promptly turns his phone off.

Dean breathes for a minute before throwing his phone at his pile of dirty laundry. Fuck.

“ ** _Fuck_**.” 

Something’s wrong with Cas.

And Dean has the distinct feeling that somehow, it’s his fault. 

“Fuck.” 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at deansmom


End file.
